


Feel My Love Through Your Burns

by i_luv_obiwan91



Series: Bard & Deirdre [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Burn Wounds, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_luv_obiwan91/pseuds/i_luv_obiwan91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deidre is seriously wounded but taken for healing after Smaug's destruction of Laketown. Once Bard is with her, he finds he doesn't want to leave... ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel My Love Through Your Burns

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this from ImaginexHobbit on Tumblr : http://imaginexhobbit.tumblr.com/post/94183507007/imagine-bards-face-when-he-sees-the-burns-you  
> Sequel to "Good To Be Worried For" : http://archiveofourown.org/works/1533110

There was some noise of protest outside the tent, a lower, stern voice that she recognized in the back of her mind but could not bring herself to focus on in lieu of the pain engulfing her. Sigrid—that blessed child, to have found her amid the floating rubble—was now helping an elven healer attend her in the recently set up refugee camp. At the sound of whatever disturbance happening outside, the girl rose to see about it and left Deirdre’s side for a few moments. “ _Da_?”

The woman heard her distantly and felt the relief of knowing he was all right. Bard was alive. Tears that burned the scrapes and cuts on her face almost matched the burning of her wounds inflicted by Smaug’s fire, and in vain Deirdre tried not to move or cry out. In a moment the hand that clenched the cot-frame at her side was taken gently into a larger, calloused hold. Without opening her eyes, she knew at once who it was and grasped him tightly.

His voice was strained with emotion, rough with smoke as he marveled aghast at her state. “ _Deirdre_ …” Carefully, he wiped the tears that had spilled and sought to calm her, to do anything to ease the pain. “I’m here, Deirdre. The children are safe, and they’re together… I’m here, now. I won’t leave.” He moved to touch her sweat-dampened curls and soothed as best he could, reminded with dread of how similar his posture had been at the death of his wife.

The elf had moved now from her legs to the burns on her back and Deirdre tensed with shaking muscles, unable to stop convulsing though he held her down as well. Her shock was heightened and it brought more agony with every move, forcing her smoke-raw eyes to open and beg. “ _Bard_ —!” Keening, the woman lost control and writhed away from the hands that tried to help her.

“Can you do nothing for her pain? This will be her death before you finish with the burns!” Command and heat in his voice, Bard brought his attention to the healer and was answered with a firm mouth and movement toward a pack of supplies. Satisfied at least with his change in direction, the man returned to the poor lass on the mattress, drawing close and resting his head gently on hers to calm her panic. “Easy, _easy_... That’s it love. Slow and deep breaths. Don’t hurt yourself further, Deirdre. There, love, easy breaths.” Before long his touch and his voice helped her to calm enough so that their breathing was in time, her grip loosed so it no longer prevented his fingers from running along hers.

In the mean time the healer had mixed a draught from some water on the boil and handed it to Bard with instruction. “Let her breathe the steam until it is cooled enough to drink. It will relax her, perhaps to sleep.” With a nod, he obeyed and was attentive to make sure the vapor reached her to take effect.

“Bard, the children…” Weakly, Deirdre tried to speak, but was quieted by his caress against her cheek.

“They are well. I sent Sigrid to them, don’t you worry.”

“But _they_ shall worry. You must go and tell them I—that I’ll be all right.” The young mother insisted with what little energy she could muster, even as he brought the liquid up for her to begin sipping.

“Sigrid has no doubt done as much, already. I will not leave until I am certain you are well… that you _will_ be well.” With a father’s authority he hushed her protests, bidding her to drink a little more so that the edge of pain might dull for some respite. She did not answer him or meet his eye for a few moments and Bard thought perhaps he had misread her. “Do you wish for me to leave, Deirdre?”

Grasping his hand, she shook her head and glanced up quickly. “I only fear what you will do when… when you see the burns he has yet to touch.” Deirdre’s hand trembled as she poised it over her mid-section and looked up at his confusion. “I want you here with me. But if—” This time his larger hand tightened around hers. “ _If_ I am to heal… it will be with grave scars to keep me together.”

He could hear the waver in her voice, the uncertainty that she would really come out all right, and he clenched his jaw with furrowed brow. “Then I will stay for you.” Bard moved his hand to hold her face, assuring her with his resolution and a steady gaze to calm the distress in hers.

“My lord, unless you are her bonded, I must ask you to leave while I attend to this lady.” The healer returned to them with a female assistant who had brought clean cloth to cover what wounds required them.

Looking up sternly, Bard stood and framed his answer with determination. “I am her betrothed, and I’m staying.” His posture almost challenged the elf to deny him, but with a curt sigh he was acknowledged and left to find another position to comfort the woman as the elves moved on either side of her body. Without prelude the two healers had quickly uncovered the cruelest of her injuries along her side, ribs, and hip, leaving her private parts modestly clothed in linens where she lay.

Almost staggering, Bard sat at the head of her cot and held one hand while his other carefully tangled in the curls at her scalp, his eyes fixed in horror at the severity of her burns. Surely even Deirdre could not know the gravity of her situation, fearful though she was. Her eyes stared ahead or watched his face, not daring to travel where his seemed rooted in concern. Unnatural colors tainted her flesh and mangled it like a cancer, leaving portions uncovered by skin while others glared angry red blisters, irritated by any movement. Absently, his hands comforted her while the worst of the assault left her blessedly numb in contrast to the sight of it.

Without realizing it Bard had pressed his lips to Deirdre’s brow and murmured gently, talking of her son and his children, stories of gifts and laughter that they had shared. Now in presence of mind, the man faced her more fully and stroked her dry, aching hand, silently praising elvish medicine for soothing the panic from before that would have been her undoing. Instead her cries were quiet, and his rough fingers dried her tears without hesitation, drawing her attention away from any dreadful sight that might greet her should she glance to the side.

Her mind eased without the imminent fear of pain, feeling the effects of the draught and sought to remover herself further from her wounds and focus on the children, her little Relic, on Bard… Bard who now held her to soothe any discomfort or distress. It was as hard to fight the hope that Bard’s words of betrothal were truth as it was to fight the flames of Smaug’s attack. Since the mourning of her husband Deirdre had not lied to herself, she knew well that through his protection and her care she had come to respect and love Bard. To have him so devoted to stay, to declare such a bond without hesitation… Deirdre still could not bring herself to presume beyond that of a friend’s loyalty.

When at last sutures had been sown and bandages wrapped well placed, another drink was brought from the herbal brew and words of rest were calmly commanded. Bard left for a few moments to speak with the elves of her care and the lass knew well they spoke of infection—long ago it had been the slow healing of a wound that brought infection and death to her husband. Such was no small danger to her, now, and the similarities brought the sting of tears to her eyes once more.

“Are you in great pain?” Bard’s concern was soon come back to her bedside and his strong hand returned to hers.

“I cannot move. Some things I can’t feel, and others feel as though someone were holding a torch over me, ready to burn again.” Her breaths were careful not to exaggerate movement, but her demeanor was calmer than it had been minutes ago. Noticing that her healers held conference at the entrance of the tent, Deirdre knew now was the time if ever she would bring it up again. “Bard, what you told the healer a while ago…”

His head bowed with a grimace, as though embarrassed, and his grave authority from earlier was now gone. “It is not the right time for such things, forgive me. Perhaps, when days are not so dire, we might talk—“

“ _Bard_.” With quiet, smoke-damaged voice, her urgency was conveyed and brought his green eyes back to meet her gaze. “I would talk with you now.” A shadow of a smile managed to touch her lips and caused his brows to rise in surprise.

Slowly, Bard lifted her hand to press to his lips in a kiss and began. “I love Relic as my own son, and I want to take care of you both. I’ve loved you for some time, Deirdre, I just… I want to protect your reputation, and to honor Eric’s memory.” His face was earnest and words as noble as she would expect of a man destined to be a king.

“Your actions have only shown respect and honor towards us, Bard. That is one of the reasons I love you.” Sharing a weak, but sincere smile, Bard leaned forward to where she blinked and kissed the fallen tears on her cheeks.

Looking into her blue eyes—reddened by smoke and sleeplessness, yet still thinking them beautiful—he asked silently for permission before meeting her lips with reverence. “Will you be my wife?”

“Yes.”


End file.
